


His Master's Voice

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [16]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6831694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo needs inventive punishments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Master's Voice

Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren. Scion of Darth Vader’s line, of his stock. Strong in both sides of the Force, Dark Jedi, warrior, apex, fulcrum, chosen one, _special_. 

He is all of those things. 

He is the nightmare little Stormtroopers are told at night to keep them in line. Superstitious lots, still convinced by the tales of the ghosts of the _Emperor_ and the _Dark Lord Vader_ ready to leap out of the shadows and punish them. To them, the vision of a man clad in black with red death is enough to keep them in line. Scourge of the Resistance, decimator and vanquisher of the unfaithful, the disloyal. A memory in scorched villages, a looming threat over those considering their own rebellions.

He is all of _those_ things.

He is also, currently, dressed in all of his own clothes, save the mask. He said something impertinent (he forgets what), refused to back down (remembers that), and is now being punished accordingly (it is not a punishment, and both of them know it). In his clothes, and with a heavy collar affixed around his throat. It is _not_ Force-nullifying, not in the traditional sense. It is, however, one of Poe’s toys.

“When I put this on you, you can no longer use the Force.”

An active, conscious choice to obey, then. Kylo prefers those, if he’s honest. Any restraint on him – without serious sedation or _actual_ Force-nullification – is moot, and the chains are in his mind, not on his frame. But when these things go on him, the ones Poe’s told him ‘no Force’, it means he has to try to minimise his contact with the Force. And that takes more effort than just staying still, constantly re-adjusting his senses to compensate, tuning out a noise, filtering through the world. It’s more than just not using it to escape, and he loves it.

The collar is heavy, and means he can’t move his head very much. He can twist slightly from side to side, but he can’t lift or lower his head, not really. It’s chained down to a point to the right of Poe’s throne, and he can’t even stand from it. Or, if he did, he’d be bent in half because that’s the extent of his freedom. His wrists are in similarly heavy cuffs: fat, thick, foreboding. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, held in place with the cuffs, and his fingers touch the opposite shoulder. He can wiggle his fingers, expand his chest to breathe, and little more. 

It’s more the embarrassment than anything else. Being trussed like this and ignored. It’s why it classes as _punishment_ , because they’ve resoundingly proven he **likes** being beaten (lightly, and a little less than lightly), and also he reacts to corporal punishment, humiliation and shame with a distinctly perverted slant. His _real_ chastisement and distress comes from being ignored, being isolated. 

That had actually backfired rather spectacularly the first time they tried it for real. Kylo had freaked out utterly, screamed himself hoarse fifteen minutes into the isolation, and sworn blind he’d never disobey again if Poe just _didn’t leave him didn’t leave him please, Maker, please no_.

So now they have a different system. Being in ‘time out’ doesn’t actually mean being in complete isolation. It does mean being untouched and mostly ignored. It does mean having to look, but not touch. It does mean being denied some things, but also kept close enough that he doesn’t actually flip out, or become convinced the solitude is permanent. It’s still unpleasant having to go without the same level of attention, but it doesn’t cause him to meltdown in existential terror, which is not fun. In Poe’s presence, close by, he can be assured he’s not been abandoned and rejected. It’s temporary, there will be an end, and Poe doesn’t want him gone _so much_ , like, not **really** , or he’d do the thing again. The ‘this, not that’ is all that’s needed, and the very threat of **real** isolation is an effective deterrent. Poe never mentions it, but it is most assuredly at the back of Kylo’s mind in his darker moments.

Poe continues to work for some time as Kylo stews in his own juices. He does have no one to blame but himself, but he also knows he had no choice. Some days he just **has** to be ornery. Either it’s because he’s just too ornery not to, or because he craves this putting-in-place, he isn’t sure. He just knows it happens, and this works, and so it’s okay. Action, reaction. Poe doesn’t object to putting him back in his place, and it makes it safe for him to act out on his inner pissiness. 

“Have you realised what you did, yet?”

Kylo has. He realised two minutes into his little hissy fit what he was doing. It’s getting easier to acknowledge his behaviour as it’s happening, rather than after, when it’s highlighted to him. What he hasn’t decided is if he’s actually at the point of apologising or not.

His knees hurt. He’s on them, with his ankles crossed behind, under his butt. His arms are in one position, and his shoulders ache and thud in protest. His back is stiff from keeping the same position for an extended period, and his neck doesn’t like this collar like this, for so long. But that’s all physical, and although the physical can impact on the emotional, there’s a delay, or… maybe a filter? No… an imperfect connection between them. He can nudge one side and hope it impacts the other, but it’s unpredictable and variable. What works one day, may well not the next. What makes sense one day makes no sense in a week’s time. 

Emotionally? He’s tired. He feels the passionate fire of before has burned out, to be replaced by a colder, spiteful feeling. A large part of him wants to spit in Poe’s face and tell him to go fuck himself. ( _Wanting_ and _doing_ are two very, very different things.) There’s also the calmer, rational voice. The one that says he’s being a complete asshole. It says Poe is being considerate and calm, and he should be, too. It’s saying he’s suffered enough, and it’s time to be the bigger man and confess, apologise, and see if it’s accepted or if he has one final penance still to pay. All of this wars rapidly behind his eyes, and he huffs out a breath. 

“Yes.” He says it, but still with some resentment. It’s most accurate to how he’s feeling. He’s not feeling _good_ and **compliant** , not fully. He’s still feeling like a borderline asshole, and to lie would be to dissemble, and to make this whole exercise moot. 

“I see. And do you wish to apologise, pet?”

He does not deserve the kind term. He’s a _brat_ , right now. “Y-yes. And no.”

“I see. In that case… do you think I should take a more active punishment, then you will be able to apologise?”

Kylo hates being made to ask for it, he really does. That, too, is the **point**. Doesn’t make him like it, just because he understands it. He lets out a non-committal noise that means _yes, please, but I don’t have to be happy about it_.

“Maybe not punishment. Maybe some positive reinforcement. What if I told you all the things I could do to you, if you were good?”  


Now his head snaps up, glowering insolence and anguish in one. “…whatever you… like… _Master_.” Okay, he didn’t mean for his tone to sound so sullen, but it happened, and now he can’t take it back.

His Emperor leans, combing and carding fingers through his hair. “How would I start? Hmm. Maybe I’d make you lick my boots clean. That tongue of yours says such stupid things, after all. Maybe it should be cleaned on my clothing. I could make you lick along the inseam of my pants…” 

And Poe, here, parts his legs, trails a finger up over the join between two cuts of cloth. “…trail up… suck and swallow me through the fabric. You’d do it. It would make your mouth dry, but you’d be able to smell me through the crotch, and want it in your mouth for real. I could paint it across your lips, draw a target, hone in. I could push your head down so far that I bruise your throat, make you suffocate on my lust…”

Kylo _whines_. This is **not. Fair.**  Poe is most assuredly not allowed to say such disgusting, wicked things. NO. He glowers from under his lashes and the lick of wild hair in his eyes, and meets a shit-eating grin.

“Hold you there. Hold you, so you can barely breathe. So you fight to stay with me, and then pull you off. Slam you down onto the table. Hold you down and slice through your clothes with my vibroblade. Cut them so they all fall apart, then trail it over your skin. Not hard enough to cut, but close enough that you think it _might_ , if I slip, if I change my mind… over those shoulders, joining the constellations and maps and charts…”  


“Poe!”  


Poe’s hand slams Kylo’s jaw shut from underneath. He almost bites his tongue in half, his eyes glazing with heady need. 

“Pull your hair, pull it until you’re begging, as I use the finest edge to write my name across your back. Not bleeding, just a deep scratch, so your skin tingles with it…”  


“PPMMMFFF!”  


“Maybe bind you up. Maybe just hold your hands between your shoulders as I slip the first vibrator into you. A small one, covered in lube. Work it in, on high speed. Fuck you shallowly, and… yes. I think I do need to put a ring on you. Let your cock fill, and never deflate. Work that toy in as deep as it can go, use it as fast as my arm will move… try to hit that place in you that makes you see black…”  


“ **PMMMMMMMFFFFFFFNNNN!”**  


Oh, Maker, Kylo can’t handle this. He’s not able to touch himself, to rub against anything. He’s turned on beyond belief, and he can imagine all these nasty things, and he _wants them so badly_. He can’t talk, the hand under his jaw keeping him muffled. Poe leans in, talking against the side of his face.

“Pull that out. Get a bigger one. Maybe one that thrusts as well as swirls inside you. Tease your hole, screw your black wider. Slam it into you so your whole body shakes, so it hurts, as well as feels good. Hold it deep in, on that spot, turned up to the max so you can’t get away from how good it feels. Hold it there, and then bite your neck…”  


Fuck, fuck, fuck. Kylo’s eyes roll up, his balls tensing and scrunching in need. He tries to hump the air, mad with lust. “ _Pmmmf. Pmmmf **pmmmmmzzzzz**.”_

“Keep it on, keep it there, making you come over and over without release, making you scream and beg and wish you’d behaved… strap the toy to your ass so it stays in, then fuck my cock in alongside it, stuffing you full, making you split open…”  


“ _Mmmmf mffffeeeeef mmmmfuuu mffffnmnnnmmmm…”_  


Kylo’s not sure how he hasn’t exploded already, but he looks up with lust-mad eyes, begging for permission. He waits for the hand to move, and then launches into: “ _Please please let me come Master let me come…”_

“That isn’t what you’re supposed to say to me, now, is it?”  


“ _I’m **SORRY** , Sir, I’m **SORRY**. Please… please let this one come…”_  


His Master’s grin goes wider. “Go on, then, pet.”

Kylo _screams_ again, and the thought - oh Maker - the thought has him spurting. He can **feel it all** , feel the thoughts in Poe’s head, feel the phantom sensations, the muscle-deep echo of a thorough fucking, and it’s like he’s in him, right then. He can feel him, and he comes with a _yowl_ that’s barely Basic, coming in the black, fabric prison of his pants. It’s not quite right, because there _isn’t_ a dick inside of him, but it’s close enough. He rasps at the air, swaying, punch-drunk, surprised with himself. He’s never done _that_ before. Not once.

“Now you can sit in your mess for a while until you’re really sorry. _Then_  I might actually fuck you,” Poe says, letting go of him fully, sitting back and leaving him kneeling in his own, cooling come, sticking his pants to him like glue.  


“ _Maker, I’m sorry_ ,” Kylo insists.  


“Not nearly enough,” Poe tells him.  



End file.
